AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH Of that Worthy DIVINE Mr. JAMES JANEWAY, Who Departed this Life, MARCH the 16th 1673/4.  

I.  
FOr Caryl's Death scarce had I dried mine Eyes,  
Loder, than Venning craved some fresh supplies:  
Pierced at this News,  
I strait began to muse,  
And scarce for them an Elegy had bred,  
But I'm informed, that Janeway's likewise Dead.   

II.  
Startled at this, like one that's Planetstruck,  
All Signs of Joy forthwith my Face forsook:  
The Characters  
Of doleful Grief, and Fears  
Were so engraven on my Heart, that I  
Can not efface their Stamp, unless I'd die.   

III.  
Th' eight parts of Speech, that always send Relief  
Unto the Grammar, of a lawful Grief,  
Breaking their hold  
Passed free, and uncontrolled  
Through my Mouth blocked up almost with Sighs,  
And barricadoed with disjointed Cries.   

iv  
The Tears brought forth from my big-bellyed Eyes  
Pickled my Face; yet this could not suffice.  
Suffice? For what?  
Guess you yourselves at that:  
For I Prognostic, If such Stars should fall,  
Darkness would soon be Epidemical.   

V  
No, he's not fallen, but is ascended higher,  
And warbles out sweet Anthems in a Choir  
Of Saints, that are  
Joyful beyond compare;  
Where stripped of is fleshly part, his Soul's alive,  
His Fame with us for ever shall survive.   

VI  
Soaring aloft, he quite left th' Earth, wherein  
The Chequer-work of Sorrow and of Sin  
Can not excite  
His nobler Appetite  
To taste this World, this bitter-sweet, once more,  
Knowing 'twas rotten to the very Core.   

VII.  
Who ever saw him, and did not admire  
To see that outward Harmony conspire  
With such rare Art  
In each agreeing part,  
As if Dame Nature in's formation had,  
To see herself outdo herself, been glad?   

VIII.  
Who ever heard him Preach, and did not wonder  
To hear his threats 'gainst Sinners, which like Thunder  
(The contrary  
To Saints he would apply)  
Struck a Convulsion through the Hearts of those;  
That (Balaam-like) would still Gods ways oppose?   

IX.  
In fine, all those that knew him must commend  
That Virtue, which did always him attend,  
And so appears  
In the redoubled Sphere  
Of Mind and Body, that, if you Virtue love,  
Of him you must (for Virtue's sake) approve.   

X.  
He was— but hold, I cannot tell you what;  
Sum all Perfections up, and he was that:  
Whatever 'tis  
That good, and worthy is  
Of the most lasting and resplendent Praise,  
Surely in him deserved a Crown of Bayes.   

XI.  
'Tis well for thee, but ill for us, blessed Soul,  
That Death does 'mong her Captives thee enrol:  
Feign we'd rejoice  
In Heart as well as Voice  
For thee; but for ourselves we needs must mourn,  
And drop a Tear at thy Religious Urn.   

XII.  
Our Faces are afloat, our Cheeks do swim  
In briny Tears, wept for ourselves, not him:  
At some one's Hearse  
I've whilom wept a Verse  
For fashion-sake, but now the Tears I shed  
Flow from my Heart; Grief makes me likewise Dead.   
J. S.   

LONDON, Printed, AN. DOM. 1674. 77.